


https://losangeles.craigslist.org/search/query=pet%20detective

by were_duck



Category: Bandom
Genre: F/M, Snark, broke artists, pet detective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 19:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13934169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/were_duck/pseuds/were_duck
Summary: Lindsey has a very fucking weird night.





	https://losangeles.craigslist.org/search/query=pet%20detective

**Author's Note:**

> For no_tags spring 2018, for the prompt "Lindsey Ballato/Gerard Way, Lindsey Ballato, Pet Detective (plz NO references to Ace Ventura)"

It was nearly 3am when the knock on her office door came, nearly startling Lindsey into fucking up her painting. 

"Go the fuck away!" she yelled, waking a cranky Tippy-Toe. The squirrel squeaked reproachfully, then snuggled more firmly into her tail and squeezed her baleful eyes shut again.

The knock came again, a little more insistent this time.

"I'm not opening that door! What the fuck do you want?" Lindsey yelled, stabbing her wet paintbrush into a murky Ball jar of water. 

"Your ad said all hours?" came the muffled voice through the shitty door. "Your light was on…"

"It's three in the fucking morning??"

"You're Lindsey, right? ...you're ah, Lindsey Ballato, Pet Detective?"

Lindsey coughed, non-plussed. "How did you find my studio?" she stalled, frantically trying to remember who she had even bothered to tell about the freak LLC she had filed to get access to office rent. It was shitty and expensive, but it got good sunlight and it was really quiet at night

"The ad? It was on Craigslist, in the services section?" the voice sounded meek, still, but increasingly determined.

Lindsey dug furiously in the armchair cushion for her phone. "You are fucking kidding me," she growled when she found it. Tippy-Toe came over to help, one tiny paw on the home button of her phone as she glared at the results of her search. "I am going to fucking murder Chantal."

"So, um? Can you help me?"

"What? No! Go the fuck away! How did you even get _in the building_?"

"I was a little surprised about that myself, but the door just opened when I tried it?"

The fucking door never latched. Lindsey had considered complaining about it but she really didn't want the management company figuring out she was squatting in the office as well as running a reputedly legitimate business.

"Look, I would say I can come back tomorrow, but…"

"Fuck's sake," Lindsey said, yanking a rank Slayer shirt on over her painting bra. It was crusted with something unidentifiable and reeked of her customary lack of shower, but given it was 3 in the fucking morning and all she had was a grumpy and loyal yet pacifist attack squirrel for protection, she wasn't really concerned about it. "I've got a fucking butcher knife" --she didn't-- "so don't fucking try anything."

She opened the door to the length of the shortest of her three security chains. She'd never had any problems, but hey, you heard things about fuckers fucking with women living in semi-illegal conditions, and it seemed a waste to go all the way to an Ace Hardware and then borrow Kitty's power drill and only screw in _one_.

The problem at her office door was a short, endearingly pudgy human with a hunched set of shoulders and a truly unfortunate beard situation and an extremely cute French bulldog cradled in the arms of an oversized sweatshirt.

"You said you need a pet detective?" she queried, eyebrow pointedly raised. The dog wheezed and let its tongue loll in friendly greeting.

"Well, I wasn't sure whether you would be able to help," earnest fucking eyes, a honking little voice relaxing a couple of registers lower now that they had established partial face to face contact. "It was a little vague, right? I mean, are you a detective who finds pets, or one who specializes in working with pets to solve other crimes and mysteries?"

Lindsey considered shutting the door right then and there, but the dog was pretty cute and, she could admit it, the nerd was kinda cute and had piqued her curiosity. "Working with pets? To solve…?" she paused, taking in two deep breaths she knew would have made Chantal proud. "...crimes?"

"Yeah. Um. Someone stole my car, and Susan was the only witness."

"Someone stole your _car_ and you think I can help? Did you… did you consider calling the police?"

An affronted snort. "Of course, and they totally caught the guy. That's not the issue!" 

The silence stretched, only broken when Tippy-Toe started chewing noisily on the headphone band hanging around Lindsey's neck, the tiny monster. 

"Look, can I…?" 

Lindsey sighed, slamming the door. She counted to three, then said to Tippy-Toe, "I hope you know what I'm doing…" unlatching the security chains and ushering the poor nerd in.

The studio--office--was a total mess, not that Lindsey cared what this person thought. You show up at 3am unannounced, you get what you see. She did superstitiously cover her in-progress painting--she hated when people saw shit before she was ready to show it, and she didn't even know this person.

"So, you don't need help finding your car, and you don't need help catching the fucker who stole it, and your dog is perfectly fine and right here pissing off my squirrel, so…"

"I need your help interpreting for Susan. She knows where the guy pawned my comics. I had some rare first printings of Doom Patrol and some older stuff, even, stuff I've had since I was a kid. I was transporting it to my brother's place for safekeeping while I get ready to move, and I left Susan in the car with them while I went in for a smoke, and this fucker went joyriding with i all for three fucking days. I was a complete wreck! Luckily he wasn't a total bastard and dropped Susan at the pound, but… fuck. I know she was there when he unloaded the shit, and she's trying to tell me."

Lindsey considered the dark circles under those shining eyes, and watched as the dog anxiously whuffled and started licking her owner's chin.

"What's your name?" she said, finally, pushing him onto the armchair and grabbing a can of room-temperature Coke from under her drafting table. 

"Gerard," the nerd said, popping the tab on the Coke and taking a swig. 

"Okay. Susan," she said, addressing the dog. Susan, no slouch, perked up at her name and made eye contact. "My name is Lindsey, and I'm not actually a pet psychic or anything, but. Can you help your pops here find, ah--" she glanced up at Gerard--"what pronouns do you use?"  
Gerard broke out in a sunny smile. "He/him/his, I appreciate you asking! Most people just assume they know just because of the facial--"

"--Right," Lindsey interrupted, turning back to the dog. "Susan, I have no fucking clue what we're doing, but it's late and I really want to get you and your pops here out of my fucking apartm--office, so," she smiled hugely at the dog, who barked in excitement as her voice rose a few pitches. "Who's a good pupper! You are! You're a good pupper who knows where the fucking comics ended up, don't you?"

Gerard's excitement was very weird to witness from up this close. He was grinning, mostly out of one half of his mouth, and he rubs at his face as he gets more animated about things. "Right! So, I dunno, I thought I could show you where the car got stolen and we can go from there? Possibly Susan can tell you more when we get there?" He bounced up out of the chair and was nearly vibrating. Lindsey thought maybe she was going to need some coffee. She didn't even bother to try to leave Tip behind--she's seen the disaster the squirrel can make of her place when she's left alone in a pique.

They crawled into Gerard's trans am--fuck, it's a rust bucket but Lindsey had to privately admit to herself that it's kinda cool, and at least it isn't another dipshit fancy mustang or whatever the fuck all the movie bros drive. It growled through the commercial district, and Gerard's iPod blasted Rihanna loudly enough that Lindsey didn't have to make small talk, and she even laughed and sings along with him to "Umbrella". The night--Gerard--was… a lot more adorable than she expected.

They pulled into the gas station, which was deserted apart from a very bored attendant probably playing Candy Crush on his phone behind the bulletproof glass. 

Gerard parked under the bright light of the self-serve gas pumps, and gave Susan a little kiss between her bulging eyes before setting her on the ground. He got out of the car, then came around to open Lindsey's door for her. At her look of irritation he just shrugged and says, "The passenger door handle is busted? Sorry, I wasn't trying to be a douche about it!" he offered his hand, like he didn't even realize he was doing it, and the gesture felt so friendly and comfortable that despite her feminist hackles being raised Lindsey tok his hand to step out of the car. 

Susan, meanwhile, was standing there, tongue lolling, and barked imperiously a few times, until Lindsey knelt down next to her. 

Jesus fuck. What the fuck was Lindsey doing. "Hey girl, uh…" she said, leaning down. The concrete ground through her leggings in a very unpleasant way. "Any… any tips for me?" Susan wasn't forthcoming.

Lindsey turned to look up at Gerard. "Listen," she said, scrubbing at her face with her hand. Fuck, she was tired, it was kind of starting to hit her. "I am not a real detective, okay? I got the business license basically so they'd let me rent the place. I didn't do any advertising--one of my dumbass friends must've put that ad up to fuck with me. They don't know I'm living there--I didn't tell anyone. They thought it was all just a joke." 

Gerard came to kneel down next to her, the weirdo. "I just… I know this is a long shot. But," he was making really intense close up eye contact, it was unnerving, "I just have a really good feeling. About you, I feel like you have someth--wait," he interrupted himself, then took both of Lindsey's hands in his. "Your friends don't even know where you live?"

Lindsey squirmed. "No? I guess I just see them at shows and stuff, I'm mostly a homebody? I think the only person I talked to last week was Tippy-Toe…" she confessed. 

"Oh my god!" Gerard squeaked. "Me too! I mean, Susan. And Mikey, obviously. But shit. Do you… do you want to go be alone together? I know a diner around here with really tall booths. Vegan scramble on me?"

"But… don't you want me to ask Susan where your comics ended up?"

Gerard waved a hand grandly. "She's kind of a morning person, actually? She might have more thoughts for you tomorrow?" Lindsey couldn't help snickering as Susan did, indeed, crawl her way up into Gerard's lap for a little snuggle, and he tucked her expertly into his sweatshirt. She reached up almost absently to rub Tip's whiskers.

"Does that diner do scrambles to go? Most diners don't love it when I bring my squirrel buddy..."

Gerard laughed, and it was a horrible honking laugh that was almost upsetting. Lindsey laughed, too, then stood, offering him a hand up. He took it un-self-consciously, and his hands were… they were nice.

"What the fuck is this night, even?" she asked him, marveling a little more at the duck laugh again. 

She let Gerard buy her a scramble, then, possibly in not the most prudent move she's ever made, she invited him up to eat. She pointedly put her headphones on and got her paints back out, turning her back on him. He dug out a weird pulp sci fi book she'd forgotten about from between her armchair cushions. Susan and Tippy-Toe both curled up on him, which was pretty fucking cute. 

They didn't exchange another word, though through the din of her painting death metal playlist she did hear him exclaim and randomly read passages of the book aloud to the animals. Lindsey found herself relaxing into her work, finding the flow that had eluded her all night. She put the final touches on her first layer sometime around dawn, and turned to find Gerard hunched over his dog and fast asleep on the chair. 

She blearily stumbled into the tiny closet of a bathroom for a pee (definitely a gold star find, this office, with an en suite toilet). She didn't realize until after she'd started pouring the first cup of coffee from her thrift store percolator that she hadn't even closed the bathroom door, even though there was a strange dude just sleeping away in her studio.

He woke up to the smell of black coffee wafting under his nose, and the look of pure gratitude he turned on her made something squish a little bit inside her. 

Susan grumbled as he slurped noisily. "Thanks," he croaked, and his morning breath was kind of terrible, but Lindsey leaned in to kiss him anyhow, because whatever the fuck was going on, this was the one completely ridiculous thing that made sense in this moment. 

It wasn't a good kiss. It was awkward, and dry, and brief, and the look of stunned amazement he gave her when she pulled back was… it was…

"I… holy shit. Uh. I really _did_ come here to hire you for pet detective-ing…" he said, words tumbling out of him like a waterfall. "And I really did just want to eat diner food with you and read to your squirrel while you painted… I didn't expect."

Lindsey laughed. "I know, doofus. Listen. Let's see if Susan is feeling… chatty, okay? See if we can find your missing comics. Then, do you want to like, I dunno, go on a date or something? With me?" 

"Um…. can we not have to go anywhere? All of that sounds good except for the part where what if we kiss again, instead?" Gerard said. 

There was nothing for it. They made out, gross and giggling, until Susan's imperious barks turned into pathetic whines to be let outside. 

On the twelve-inch-wide dead grass verge between Lindsey's office building and the one next to it, Susan daintily did her business while Lindsey snuggled up on Gerard. "What about your comics?"

He shrugged, the gesture already feeling familiar under her arms. "Maybe they got pawned at the used shop down the block? I think they've got a pretty good selection of trashy paperbacks?

Lindsey grinned, letting Gerard deal with the mess while she picked Susan up. "What's that, Susan? You think we should check _every_ secondhand shop in the 'hood, just to be sure?" 

"It's a date," Gerard said, taking her hand and not letting go.

A very weird fucking night, and things were probably only going to get weirder. Lindsey couldn't wait.


End file.
